Walking Wounded
by SometimeSelkie
Summary: Pansy returns for her seventh year, but both friends and enemies are missing from her classes. Does this mean she'll be forced to speak to members of other houses? PostHBP, HMS Horticulture?
1. Constellations

Standard disclaimers apply.

**Chapter One: Constellations**

Pansy made another careful mark on her Astronomy chart and turned back to her telescope. Beside her, Padma Patil muttered under her breath as she scratched something out on her own work. Ernie McMillan coughed.

It was Pansy's final year at Hogwarts, and the size of her year had dwindled to the point where all Houses were combined for classes. Some parents had pulled their children from Hogwarts out of concern for their safety. Some parents had pulled their children for more nefarious ends. Only three seventh-year Slytherins were left: herself, Daphne Greengrass, and Blaise Zabini. Daphne's parents weren't Dark, Blaise's mother wouldn't see her darling run off and ruin his education, and Pansy…well, she wasn't sure _why_ she remained.

The night sky wasn't perfect. Small clouds rode along the stars, illuminated by a mid-phase harvest moon. Her quadrant was obscured. Sighing, she took a break from her instruments.

Her eyes sought out the constellation the way a pit pony goes home at the end of the day – immediately and without thinking. Draco. The Dragon. By the time her brain caught up with her, it was too late.

Mumbling an excuse about the loo, she slipped into the Tower and stumbled down the spiral stairs until she knew she couldn't be seen.

Draco was in Azkaban now. Some stupid piece of luck, an attack gone wrong, and suddenly his life was reduced to barren walls in a cell with a view. At least, she hoped he had a view. To her shame, she hadn't been to visit him. She put a hand against the cold stone wall and wondered if he knew how much she wanted to go to him.

She'd broken up with Draco halfway through her sixth year, when he was too preoccupied to spend time with her and would be mysteriously absent without giving any explanation. In hindsight, she'd left him when he needed her most, but he hadn't even trusted her enough to tell her what he had been doing. Without trust, there was no foundation for a relationship. She still missed him, though. If nothing else, they were friends, but she hadn't gone to visit him once. Yes, she was scared of Azkaban. She was too afraid of what she might find, afraid that she'd be looking into a tidepool of inexorable future. No one else spoke of being to see him, so she figured everyone felt the same way. Did he know he was being abandoned? Her eyes welled with tears.

So she was in school, and Draco, arguably her best friend, was gone. He hadn't trusted her to help him, and now she had turned her back on him in turn. She was stuck in this mouldy old school because her parents didn't think she was hard enough, smart enough, to be anything but a liability to the Dark Lord. And deep down, she knew they were right. She was an indifferent student, and while she possessed a measure of cleverness, she wasn't _diabolical_. Draco was diabolical. Blaise was diabolical. Millicent was doubly diabolical under her stoic exterior, which was probably why she was gone.

Millicent gone, Draco gone, Blaise protected, Pansy a disappointment to everyone….

She sagged against the wall and sobbed once, digging her nails into her palms.

"Are you alright?"

Pansy's head went up like a doe hearing gunshot. Longbottom? _Longbottom_. He'd forgotten his notebook and gone back for it, and now he was on the stairs below her, gaping stupidly. "What are you looking at, Longbottom?" she snarled, her fury growing by the moment. "Standing there like the useless idiotic lump you are? Say something, or are you mute when you don't have precious Potter and Weasley to think of comebacks? Kneazle got your tongue, you great pudding-faced wanker?"

It was as if someone had hit Longbottom with a Freezing Charm. He just stared at her, his mouth slightly open.

"Say something!" she screamed.

"No," he replied, looking bewildered.

"_No?_ Why not?"

He had the unbelievable nerve to look at her with pity then, and when he finally answered, his voice was soft. "Because that's not what civilized people do, Pansy."

Pansy froze in absolute shock. Had she been in a normal mindset, she would've been outraged - how _dare_ he speak to her that way? At the moment, however, those words could've come straight from her mother's own mouth. There were undertones of disappointment and failure to live up to expectations in his voice, and hearing her parents' intonations come out of Longbottom's mouth – dull-witted, childlike Longbottom – was too much of an incongruity for her mind to process.

He edged past her carefully and rounded the corner up the tower.


	2. Karma Police

**Chapter Two: Karma Police**

It occurred to Pansy later that she should've threatened Longbottom to ensure he didn't blab to the whole school that he'd seen Puggy Parkinson bawling her eyes out on the stairway, but as things turned out, she didn't have to worry. Longbottom, apparently, never said a word, and life went on as usual. She exchanged snide remarks with Blaise and Daphne, completed her homework in the Common Room, bullied the Gryffindors – oh, the bullying to be done, even with Potter and Weasley gone, the void that Draco's absence created! – and tried to get an idea of what to be when she grew up. Until last year she'd figured she'd just be a wealthy Malfoy, but now she wondered if she could be any good at Healing. Charms was probably her best subject, and she understood Transfiguration more than her poor marks let on…. With everything going on around her, the only time she'd seen Longbottom so much as glance at her since that night in the Tower was the day she'd been giving the red-haired Widow Potter a bit of what she deserved and he came upon the scene, told Pansy to stuff it, and left before she could fire back.

Double Herbology always seemed to occur on days that were at least misty, if not outright raining. The draft in the greenhouse the seventh-years were working in seemed worse to Pansy than usual, but it could've been the simple fact that the students were on their knees fertilizing Spitting Thornbush for an entire hour without reprieve. Her mood was undoubtedly sour, and having to work with her arms extended fully to keep the plants from stinging her face wasn't helping.

"Excellent!" Professor Sprout exclaimed when the class was complete. "Next, some Whomping Willow treelings need repotting. You'll be working in partners; mind to hold the branches tight for your partner when switching the pots, they don't take kindly to being shuffled around…."

Pansy turned to Daphne, sighing in a long-suffering manner. "Why can't we ever work on anything nonviolent these days, like some nice trumpeting daffodils?"

"Beats me," Daphne replied, removing her gloves and slapping them against her thigh.

"So, Daphne," Blaise interrupted, sliding his arm over the girl's shoulders, "shall we get cracking? I'll hold the branches."

"What are you doing, Blaise?" Pansy asked. Daphne worked with _Pansy_, not Blaise. Blaise was always happy to go off and strain relations with the other houses (he was too competent a student to make anyone actively unhappy to work with him).

Daphne flushed. "I was thinking I could work with Blaise this time. You know, because he's strong enough to hold the boughs," she added hastily.

"You're abandoning me?" Pansy asked in disbelief. Because Blaise was strong, her teeth. Because Blaise and Daphne were slapping at each other more and more often, because Blaise and Daphne had begun staring at each other more than was prudent, yes.

"You're so dramatic, Pansy," Blaise teased with an easy grin, beginning to steer Daphne away.

Pansy was seething. Thrown over, just like that, for some idiot bloke. Millicent would never have done this. Draco would've told Crabbe and Goyle to partner for the assignment, even if they ended up failing, to save her from the indignity she was facing now. Daphne always had been wishy-washy, she reflected wrathfully.

"See, McMillan and Longbottom are floundering around right over there," Blaise continued with a mirthful snort. "You – oh, McMillan's gone. Maybe you can make a new Gryffindor friend?"

Pansy hefted one of the clay pots and hurled it at Blaise's head.

He ducked in time, and the pot smashed satisfyingly against a large plant with tropical, leafy fronds. Blaise turned back to her with a look of great surprise on his face. "What was that for?" he said, initial shock giving way to disgust at her lack of restraint. Behind him, the plant began to hemorrhage a yellow, slimy substance and a rancid-butter smell began to permeate the greenhouse.

"_Miss_ Parkinson!" Professor Sprout screeched, trundling up the walkway and pushing right past Pansy. "Do you have _any _idea how- oh, why do I bother?" She cast Pansy a withering look over her shoulder. "Detention for the rest of the week, Miss Parkinson, and thirty points from Slytherin for abject carelessness and attacking another student! Longbottom, assistance if you please!" She had already begun collecting some of the slime in a pot and Longbottom lurched over to help, nearly kicking another pot into the plant in the process.

Now there were an odd number of students. She walked over to Blaise and Daphne, but they literally turned their backs on her. Daphne, too? What was _her_ problem? Pansy hadn't done anything to her!

"You can work with us, Pansy," Morag MacDougall offered quietly.

"Thanks."

Morag's partner was Granger.

She'd had it with Daphne. This insult could not be borne. So that left her with, what, zero friends? A twig whacked her in the eyebrow.

"Sorry, Parkinson," Granger said insincerely.

* * *

She was so frustrated now that her breathing was erratic. Professor Sprout had given Pansy another dressing-down when she returned to the greenhouse for detention, and finally assigned her to re-pot Afferburrs, the most repulsive looking plants she'd seen since the Mandrakes they'd handled in second year. They seemed cemented to their pots, and neither charm nor trowel could remove them. She was quite sure that this particular repotting was doing them more harm than good; three plants had already been destroyed. A major stem snapped off her fourth specimen and she cursed under her breath. Grabbing the very base of the plant, she finally just yanked and twisted. The Afferburr flew out, a clod of dirt hitting Pansy's open mouth, and she was left holding the freed plant from her numb fingers, a second stem bent. Peering into the vacated pot, she observed that she'd done major damage to the root system as well. Pansy slumped in defeat, dropped the plant in its new pot, and started to tamp in the new soil. She could stick the stem in the dirt to make the plant look less pathetic…Sprout would have her hide if she saw what Pansy was doing…. 

As if on cue, the greenhouse door clattered open. Pansy hastily thrust the broken stem in the soil and bent over her work, tipping the old pot full of broken roots so it faced towards the table. "Hey, Pansy."

Pansy brought her head up over the other Afferburrs. "Longbottom?"

He seemed immune to the hostility in her voice. "What are you doing?"

"You know very well what I'm doing," she snapped, "what are _you_ doing?"

"Checking on the Nanaban you damaged in class," he answered affably, "and then going over to Greenhouse Two. Professor Sprout has some very interesting cacti I'm helping to care for."

Pansy let her rolling eyes speak for her. _Go away, Longbottom_.

But Longbottom didn't leave. "Afferburrs?" He poked at the errant stem in Pansy's half-repotted plant. It dropped like a felled tree. "What are you doing to them?" he asked, mildly horrified.

"Repotting," she answered shortly. "They're right horrors."

Neville picked up a second Afferburr and tugged at it experimentally. It didn't budge. He drew his wand.

"I tried to hex them already," Pansy muttered under her breath.

"_Agua_." Neville let a stream of water drench the soil, then pocketed his wand and pulled the plant from the pot effortlessly. "There's your problem, Pansy, the soil's too dry." He showed her the inside of the pot, which was slick and glistening. He then showed her the other pot still holding bits of root. "See this goo? It comes from the roots. If you dilute it enough, the plants can't stick anymore and should come right out."

Pansy did her best to scowl at him, but it was difficult when she was beside herself with relief. She was going to get out of here before midnight after all. "Thank you," she said primly.

"Do you need some help? I could water them for you."

"You can't help me. It's detention."

"You're going to be late for supper as it is. Besides, I've already helped you." As if to settle the debate, he placed his Afferburr in a new pot and dumped potting soil around it.

"Longbottom?" she asked in a small voice.

He stopped his ministrations and looked at her. "Yes?"

"Why are you helping me?"

His level, benign gaze didn't waver. "I like plants."

Pansy had to look away first. She gave her repotted Afferburr a last pat. "You've got some dirt on your face," she heard him say, and when she reached up to scrub at her cheek she was surprised at how warm it was.


	3. Control

**Chapter Three: Control**

Daphne and Blaise _still _weren't talking to her the next morning. It made breakfast quite boring and awkward. Pansy's plan was going to be necessary, after all. She finished her porridge silently, waved good morning to her little sister, Violet, and made her way over to the Ravenclaw table to ask Morag if she would like to be Pansy's partner for their impending Transfiguration class. Morag agreed, and Pansy was suddenly quite happy that she'd decided not to pick a fight with Granger yesterday, thus proving what a good work partner she could be. Next, she approached the Hufflepuff table and sweetly asked Ernie McMillan (whom she'd always found fetching, not that she'd ever admit it aloud) if he'd mind partnering her in Charms class. Ernie acquiesced graciously, and Pansy walked off with a happy smirk on her face and a skip in her step.

She really ought to thank Daphne later on. She could hardly wait for Charms.

Terry Boot for Potions, after Padma refused, and all that was left was a Divination partner for the end of the day. Pansy decided she could probably wait until lunchtime to tackle that particular battle and went to fetch her books for class and make sure she was looking extra cute for Ernie. She saw Longbottom stumbling down the stairs towards the Great Hall, looking like he'd overslept, jumping awkwardly over a trick stair and muttering to himself.

"Longbottom," she barked.

He nearly toppled over, but managed to grasp the banister and steady himself. "Yuh?" he asked, looking down at her with wide, stupid eyes.

"You like plants, right?"

His slack jaw dropped even lower and the blood drained rapidly from his face. "I, uh…yeah," he stammered, looking like he wished he'd fallen in the trick stair after all.

Ugh. The boy was a _mess_. All that chattery nonsense last night, and now he couldn't string two words together. Good thing most of their Herbology classes were in the afternoon; morning didn't seem to agree with him. "Well, we made a pretty good team yesterday, so we should really be partners next Herbology class."

Longbottom's shoulders slumped in defeat. "That sounds fine," he said with an expression of mild relief on his…relief? He was definitely a strange one, but he knew his plants, he could be bossed around easily, and he wasn't Granger.

"Alright. See you around, Neville." She rounded a corner and nearly collided with a rotund young non-Slytherin who was hurrying towards the Great Hall. "I'd run _away_ from the food if I were you, fatty!" she yelled after him.

* * *

At the lunch table Pansy was still flushed with exuberance from Charms class. They'd practiced Confounding Charms and she and Ernie had thought of increasingly ridiculous things for the other to believe. Maybe she could think of a way to study with him for the exam…oh, the things she'd love for him to believe if Flitwick wasn't in the room…. 

"Pansy, would you pass that pitcher of pumpkin juice this way?" Blaise slid in beside her, Daphne in tow. Pansy arched an eyebrow and did as she was asked. "Daphne, tell Pansy your story," he urged.

Daphne leaned across him, her eyes flashing conspiratorially. "So, get this: I hear Padma tell Pavarti that Terry was nipping out of bed in the wee hours of the morning for a snack, and he saw Granger running down the hallways, crying."

Pansy frowned thoughtfully. "Really." She snuck a discreet look at the Gryffindor table, but she couldn't spy the subject of conversation.

"And she wasn't in Transfiguration, remember?" Pansy didn't; she'd daydreamed her way through the class. So much for proving to Morag that she was a good partner! "Do you think some bloke crushed her poor little mudblood heart?"

Blaise wrinkled his nose delicately. "I don't think anyone would have Weasley's sloppy seconds, even if he's not around to hex them for it."

Pansy shrugged. "Maybe some _girl_ did her wrong. Heaven knows, if I'd lusted after Weasley I'd be turned off the species altogether when I came back to my senses."

Daphne and Blaise sniggered. Maybe Pansy wouldn't have to find a new Divination partner, after all.

* * *

Life was pretty good in the ensuing days. Now that Pansy didn't have to strategise over class partners she could focus on what was really important. She made two four-eyed Ravenclaws cry, gotten a trio of Gryffindors and a Hufflepuff in detention, and taught a lesson to a second-year Slytherin who thought he was too important to listen to his elders - he would never look at a high-backed chair the same way again. Pansy sprawled in said high-backed chair, examining a small, bizarre-looking plant. Daphne and Blaise sat by the fire playing Exploding Snap and most of the third-years were working feverishly on a Potions essay. "Hey Pansy," Violet asked from within the knot of writers, "I need another use for bubotuber puss. Can you help us out?" 

"Maybe you should ask Pansy's boyfriend about it," Blaise butted in with a puckish smile, barely looking up from his game.

"Maybe Daphne should remind her boyfriend that his mouth should only open when she wants to stick her tongue in it," Pansy retorted mildly.

"Oh, c'mon, it was funny," Daphne declared as the cards exploded in Blaise's face. "I mean, you _do_ realize you're stuck with Longbottom practically for the rest of the semester."

"Yes, it's ever so difficult to be stuck with the smartest kid in the class for a major assignment," Pansy said sarcastically. "You should've seen him. 'Why, what an interesting hybrid we've got!'" she mimicked. "'I can't figure out the mix at all by looking at it. These leaves – I believe the hairs on them are actually spines!'" She clutched at her chest and rolled her eyes dramatically.

"I think he could be right about that," Blaise mused, "although it shouldn't be possible, technically. Leaves growing out of leaves?"

"Like I said, smartest kid in the class. And he actually _cares_. When Sprout said she wanted as many reasons as possible as to why we guess the parents we do, he practically started drooling."

"I thought he drooled all the time," Daphne deadpanned with mock confusion.

"We're definitely going to get the bonus points for the hybrid reconstruction, and all I have to do is sit back and watch," Pansy bragged.

"Yeah," Blaise sputtered, "watch _Longbottom_. Has your life really become so boring since…." He trailed off abruptly and started shuffling cards with great concentration.

Everyone in the room began moving with excessive deliberation. Violet dipped her quill, apparently fascinated with her ink bottle. Pansy was suddenly transfixed by her plant and decided to take it upstairs to bed. They'd received six specimens, and Neville had given this one to her so she could observe its behaviour at daybreak. Despite her boasting, she was determined to show him that she wasn't dead weight on this project.

Daphne had a point, though. Longbottom for the rest of the bloody semester.

* * *

"So, did the plant have any interesting behaviour this morning?" he asked her at breakfast the next day. 

Pansy pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yeah." He leaned forward expectantly. "It's dead."


	4. Knives Out

**Chapter Four: Knives Out**

As things turned out, the plant wasn't dead; it was merely very ill. Neville's tender ministrations saved it from an early grave, but not before the wretched thing had a chance to sink its spines into him. He'd run up to her that afternoon, excitedly describing the attack and how it had made him go numb, and what that could mean. Now, a week later, they were in an unused classroom with Pansy's plant (which was doing much better now with its pot constantly in a bowl of water) and Neville was thumbing awkwardly through one of his texts. "It's obviously a water plant," he muttered to himself, trying and failing to turn to another section of the book. He knocked his bandaged left hand against the desk in frustration. "Dammit!"

Pansy, sprawled sideways on the bench beside the table, looked over her sketchbook at him. "That's what you get for continuing to take Care of Magical Creatures," she said sardonically. "I got out of that maniac's class the first chance I had."

"He's not a maniac," Neville intoned, his patience restored, "and I just got outgrabed by a mome rath. Madame Pomfery said it'll be fine in a day or two." Pansy sniffed disdainfully and turned back to her sketch. Neville craned his neck to see her work, a detail drawing of their plant's leaf structure she'd started when he'd stopped responding to her offers of helping him with the research. "That's really good," he said.

Pansy hesitated, unsure of how to respond to a compliment that wasn't barbed. She managed to choke back her knee-jerk response that it was a good thing _one _of them had talent, and went for the less acerbic, "It's not like I've got anything else to do."

Neville looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you're hogging all the texts."

"Well, the drawing is helping – we can use it in our report – and you could do some stem sections so we could see what the inside of this thing looks like. I'm really starting to think she managed to cross a water plant and a cactus of some sort."

Pansy's sketchbook fell to the table with a satisfying thud. "So what, Longbottom, you think you can just order me to do the dirty work while you look in the books?"

Neville held up his bandages. "You don't very well expect that I can do it?" he asked, brandishing his useless hand.

"Oh, _fine_," she huffed, opening Neville's Herbology kit (honestly, he was such a nerd!) and withdrawing a watch glass, a blade, and a small bottle of purple stain.

"Thanks, Pansy," he said sweetly, turning back to his tome. "A section could really help us out."

Pansy rolled her eyes as she pulled on her dragonhide gloves. The boy had no sense of retaliation – no wonder he was always picked on! She grappled with the plant and managed to tear off a leaf and stem. She laid the leaf on the table, removed her gloves, took up the blade, and being careful to turn the leaf's spines towards the tabletop away from her hand, pressed the blade to the thick, woody stem. Not much happened, so she stepped up her efforts and finally managed to hack a couple of slices off the specimen. She placed the slices in the watchglass, doused them in the purple stain, rinsed them, and mounted them on Neville's small microscope. "They're ready, Your Majesty."

Neville looked up from his research. "Great!" he said, either completely missing Pansy's expert sarcasm or opting to ignore it altogether. He slid down the bench to the scope, fiddled with the mirrors, and frowned. "Pansy…you need to do more sections."

Pansy bristled. "You made me slave over those, and now you're complaining about them?"

"I can't see the detailed structure. The slices are too thick, and they look damaged. Did you saw back and forth when you cut them?"

"First of all," she said furiously, "the stem was really tough, okay? Second, I'm really sick of you ordering me about and not letting me do anything important!" Unexpectedly, she felt the hot prickle of tears beginning to build up in her eyes. This only served to make her angrier. "I'm not incompetent!" she screamed, not even sure where the words were coming from anymore. "I'm not!"

Neville was shaking his head slightly, looking more than a bit frightened. "I never said that!"

"That's what you think!"

"No! Pansy, that's not what I think at all," he said, putting the microscope aside. "You're better at drawing than I am." She snorted. "I was doing the research because I know the books better than you do and can get through them faster; I know you don't want to spend any more time with me than you have to." He missed her noncommittal shrug as he was mumbling down at his bandaged hand. "Besides, you didn't seem very…_interested_ in the research part."

"Well, I'm not interested," she agreed grumpily.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Neville's features. "I'm trying to make this as painless as possible for you. Just let me know what you want to do."

"I know what I _don't_ want to do," she said wryly. "Make more sections."

"How about this: you hold it and I'll slice it. I'll show you the best way to cut tough stems."

Pansy was still confused by her own outburst and suspected it was partially caused by the letter she'd received from her mother that morning. Normally, she was quite happy to use other students as vessels to vent her frustrations on, but in light of Neville's earnest-sounding rationalizations, she just felt petty and embarrassed. He was right. She didn't want to do research and she didn't want to spend time with him. "Fine," she said sullenly and took a meek hold of the severed stem.

She felt Neville's weight settle on the bench behind her and his right arm entered her vision and reached for the blade. "Okay," he said, his voice uncomfortably close to Pansy's ear, "keep the stem facing to the side like that…now, I find the best stroke is one smooth slice instead of going straight down or side-to-side a bunch of times…." The winking blade nestled into the top layer of the stem and Pansy could feel the slight buckling from where her unprotected fingertips grasped the stem. She watched in something akin to horror as the muscles in Neville's hand rearranged themselves for the downstroke, and before he could slice through, she released the branch with a small shriek and propelled herself backwards directly into his chest.

Neville cried out too, his injured hand grasping her shoulder and pulling himself towards her to stop from toppling over. "What did you do that for?" he gasped, the blade clattering to the table.

"I'm sorry," she said, "it's just…you're so clumsy, Neville…."

"It was more dangerous for you to start flailing around like that! I could've cut you!"

"Maybe that's what you _wanted_ to do!" she cried before she could stop herself.

"You honestly think I was trying to cut you? To punish you? Pansy, that's not what-"

"-civilized people do, yes, Neville, you're a broken record." She was starting to become aware that he was still clutching her to his chest, which was warm and almost springy, not like Draco's hard chest with his ribcage just under the skin. She tried to remember the last time she'd had extended physical contact and finally supposed grabbing that little Sue Lambor to throw her down the stairs by the Potions classroom yesterday counted. Suddenly, Pansy couldn't stand the warmth and shrugged her shoulder violently. "Get off me, Longbottom," she hissed.

Neville released her immediately, and the warmth was gone. "S-sorry," he stammered, nearly upsetting the bench in his haste to stand.

Pansy turned in her seat to glare at him and saw that his face was beet-red. "Where are you going?" she snapped. "You said you needed more sections."

"I'll do them when my hand heals," he said dolefully, beginning to put the Herbology books back into his bag.

"Then how am I supposed to learn?" she cried, starting to feel mild panic although she couldn't put her finger on why.

The last book hung in Neville's hand as he looked at her incredulously. "You didn't trust me when I tried to teach you, then you accused me of trying to injure you. If I wanted to get my head bit off, I'd go find a Congo Lionvine."

Pansy rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Oh, come on. I didn't mean it."

"Why would you say something you don't mean?"

The question was so ridiculous that she couldn't bother to answer. "You're too sensitive!" she accused. "It was just a little teasing!"

"You're too mean!" he shot back, then looked horrified that he'd said that aloud.

The comic value was too much. A delighted laugh escaped Pansy's lips. "Finally!" she squealed. "You fought back!"

Neville blinked uncomprehendingly. "You're mental," he sputtered.

"No, I'm mean!" she giggled. "And you're wonderful at Herbology!" She swung back to face the table. "Come over here and slice this thing for me!"

He shuffled towards her warily. "You're not going to jump this time?"

"Only if you promise not to cut me." She grabbed hold of the leaf and was about to tell him to hurry up when she felt him settle behind her on the bench again. "Isn't this fun, Longbottom?"

"No," he replied shortly.

"You're not still _angry_, are you?" she asked, twisting to look back at him, her shoulder brushing his chest before he pulled back. He did look uncharacteristically gloomy and seemed unwilling to answer her. "I'm sorry, okay?" she said softly, her tongue twisting as if she were speaking a foreign language. She gave his knee an awkward pat. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"I'm sorry I wasn't letting you help research," he returned.

"S'okay. Now can we please just cut this thing up?"

Neville reached past her for the blade. "Yeah."


	5. Undenied

**Chapter Five: Undenied**

Pansy burst into the Slytherin Common Room and dashed up into her dorm. Daphne was in languid repose on her own bed, thumbing through _Witch Weekly _in her pyjamas. "Thanks for taking my bag up," Pansy wheezed, locating the object in question on her unmade bed.

"It was nothing. Hey, what do you think I'd look like with short hair?"

"A lemon-flavoured lolly," Pansy answered promptly, dropping to her knees and reaching blindly under her bed. "Ugh, don't make me think about food. I really should've eaten more at lunch."

"You really shouldn't have hexed Marcus Belby in plain sight of Flitwick, you mean. Besides, it was really gross. So he made you miss supper?" Daphne asked.

"Indirectly. I would've made it, but I had to go chasing off after Slughorn to get permission to work in the Potions lab tonight and then did a bit of prep work." She flipped her bedskirt back down and stood with a Butterbeer in each hand.

"What's the occasion?" Daphne asked, reaching a hand out with mild surprise that Pansy was raiding her stash.

"They're supper," Pansy declared, throwing both of them in her bag. "I've got to get out to the greenhouses."

"Oh, don't tell me you're going off with Longbottom again."

"He wants to try to make a potion with our hybrid plant," Pansy explained while fishing a parchment out of her bag, "and you know he's rubbish at Potions and is liable to blow himself up."

"And this upsets you why?" Daphne quipped.

Pansy rolled her eyes in response and began scrawling at the bottom of her parchment. _The mating of _Craniatster aquaticum_ to _Sancastis vicosum_ may yield many practical advances in fields such as potion-making. In such a hybrid, the satyrphloem, normally found dispersed through _C. aquaticum_, appears to be concentrated in the plant's spines imparted by _S. vicosum._ As satyrphloem concentration has always been a limiting factor for the use of Sootheweed in pain-deadening applications, the plant has been relegated almost exclusively to minor headache remedies; however, in its concentrated form in the hybrid, it is possible that satyrphloem may be used for more general painkilling potions and salves._ "He has some trumped-up idea that he can make a super-potion with our plant and wants to test his little theory," she said, shaking the parchment to dry it. "The problem is, we've got to harvest the thing at midnight and make the potion immediately, so I don't know when I'll be back."

"He knows there's no higher grade than 'O', right?" Daphne asked.

"Yeah, but now he thinks he's stumbled on this discovery or whatever and it could be useful for the war."

"Damned bloody Gryffindors."

"You got that right." Pansy replaced the parchment and slung her bag over her shoulder. "Don't wait up."

* * *

Neville was already in the greenhouse when she arrived, seated on the ground on his winter cloak and writing in a notebook. A small jar filled with blue fire provided light. "About time," he said as she kicked snow off her boots.

"I'm early!"

"You weren't at supper. I was worried."

Pansy set her bag down beside him. "Never fear, dear Longbottom, your precious potion will be brewed tonight."

Neville shrugged off her theatrics. "I brought something to keep us warm while we're waiting," he said, producing two Butterbeers from under his cloak.

"Why Neville, you rebel!" Pansy cried, genuinely impressed under her sarcasm. "Wherever did you get these?"

The light of the blue fire obscured any blush that rose on Neville's cheeks. "I bought them off a fourth-year," he admitted.

Pansy stifled a belly laugh. It was painful. "Well, all I can say is great minds think alike," she said, opening her bag to reveal her own Butterbeers. "I finished writing that section on the satyrphloem," she said, handing her parchment to him and accepting an open Butterbeer in return.

"Great," he said, tossing it into his own bag without looking at it. "I was thinking we could say something about how much easier the hybrid is to grow than Sootheweed itself since it doesn't have to be underwater, but we still haven't really discussed any benefits of-"

"Longbottom," Pansy interrupted, wondering when exactly Granger had taken over Neville's body, "I haven't had a free moment yet today. I went straight from classes to mopping up projectile vomit without magic to negotiating terms of use with Slughorn. Can we not talk about class right now? I'd like to relax for a bit before I'm off toiling over this potion."

"You're the reason the fourth floor hallway outside the Arithmancy classroom was blocked off this afternoon?" Neville asked.

"Oh, don't look so shocked." She took a swig of Butterbeer. The liquid hit her empty stomach and radiated immediately out to her extremities, negating the slight chill in the greenhouse. Her hunger pangs dulled. "I think this is the best Butterbeer I've ever tasted," she murmured.

Neville ducked his head and opened his own drink. "It smelled horrible down there."

"It was horrible." She sucked greedily on her bottle.

"Why do you hex people all the time, Pansy?" he asked quietly.

"Well, sometimes because people bother me and sometimes just because I feel like it," she said casually, wiping at her mouth in an unladylike fashion. "Like, I don't know if Gryffindors have this problem, but the newer batches of Slytherin students? Completely insolent. They just don't _listen_."

"Ours, too," Neville agreed. "I don't remember being near that cheeky when I was in first or second year."

"We can't have them wandering around like that, besmirching our good House's name," she continued.

"I don't think your house ever had a good name," Neville observed.

Pansy glanced up sharply and saw a small smile on his face. "When did you become so funny?" she said with gentle sarcasm. Neville had become a lot more amusing since he discovered the fine art of taking digs at people. They were feeble, but it was a start. "Anyways, if they're out of line, they get hexed. That's the way it is. 'Course, you lot never see that because we keep it to ourselves. Dumb as these firsties are, they at least know to keep their mouths shut if they know what's good for them."

"Oh, so you hex people for their own good," Neville said. He was still horrifically bad at sarcasm. "How kind of you."

"I'm all about the greater good." She winked as she tipped her bottle to her lips, but it was empty. Wordlessly, Neville cracked another Butterbeer open and handed it to her. "You know how some people can annoy you just by existing?"

"No."

"I hex a lot of people because of that. And sometimes it cheers me up if I'm having a bad day to see someone else be miserable, too."

"Watching someone projectile vomit makes you feel better?" Neville asked sceptically.

"If they deserve it. And, let me assure you," Pansy added viciously, "Belby had it coming."

"You're scary sometimes," Neville said, swirling his drink absently. "What did he do, trip you?"

"I can't believe I'm actually telling you this," Pansy muttered, "but then again, you've probably heard by now. He's been running around telling people that I'm a lousy shag." Neville choked on a mouthful of Butterbeer and bent over in convulsions, coughing awkwardly through his nose. Pansy watched for a couple of seconds and then, when it became apparent that he wasn't recovering, started thumping him on the back. "I take it you hadn't heard, then," she said wryly as he stilled.

He shook his head vigorously.

"Anyways, that's why I hexed him so bad. As if he would even know! I'll bet he's never even been kissed," she said with contempt.

"So, you've never kissed him," Neville said.

Pansy made a revolted face. "Are you dim-witted? No! Ugh!"

"Why would he say that, then?"

"Dear, naïve Neville. Boys lie about that sort of thing all the time."

"Yeah, but why…." He trailed off and shook his head slightly.

"Speaking of reputations," she said slyly, "how does it feel to be Ginny Weasley's first snog?"

Pansy suppressed a giggle as Neville's mouth dropped open in shock. "What?"

"Oh, don't play coy with me. I know you took her to the Yule Ball in fourth year. I was there."

"I didn't snog her!" he cried, scandalised.

"Now see, Neville, when you lie about things like this it's to say you did it, not that you didn't," she teased. "Besides, word on the street is she's one of the best in the school. You should be proud."

It was hard to tell in the lighting, but Pansy was sure that Neville was beet-red by now. This was fun. Pansy set her bottle down with a hollow _clink_; it was empty again. It occurred to her that she probably shouldn't have downed two of them on an empty stomach. Oh, sure, she was still in full control of her faculties, but she wanted to be dead on for this potion. "I didn't kiss her," he said resolutely.

"You could be right," she mused. "I've never heard anything about what you're like to kiss, and I heard Corner uses too much tongue before he and Chang were dating, so it must've been from her."

Neville's hands were pressed to his eye sockets. "Please, stop talking," he begged.

She loved this new game. "What?" she said in feigned confusion. "I still think you're lying."

"I'm _not_," he maintained, uncovering his eyes to glare at her.

"Okay, then, who have you snogged?" She was a bit curious, actually.

"Stop it, Pansy," he said sharply. Too sharply, in fact. Pansy realized that she'd hit on a sore spot, made an educated guess as to what it was, and pressed on.

"Lovegood? Granger, maybe?" Not that either of them would've blabbed, she'd wager. She was just trying to incite him to the point where he'd blurt out the truth. Neville shook his head in disbelief and picked up an empty bottle of Butterbeer, nestling it inside his bag.

Pansy was annoyed that he was trying to end the game just when it was getting interesting. She swung her leg around and plopped back down on top of Neville's outstretched legs, facing him. _Now_ she had his attention, and she was pleased to note that she'd never seen such a look of utter terror on Neville's face. He was still as a statue. She braced herself for the inevitable trip to the ground she was going to take when he recovered his wits, but it never came. A possibility occurred to Pansy, a possibility so delicious and disgusting, so horrible and humiliating and gratifying, so _intriguing_, really, that she couldn't bring herself to wait and plot and skulk about to know if she was right. She had to be right. There was no other possibility. Her fingers laced behind Neville's neck. She dropped her chin and regarded him through heavy-lidded eyes. "Would you snog _me_?"

Neville seemed to have stopped breathing. Not even his stubby eyelashes moved in response.

Oh, this was _rich_. She could feel a sardonic grin spread across her face as she leaned in towards his lips. "Well?" she breathed, and without waiting for a reply, she closed the distance. Her fingers wound in the hair at the nape of his neck and she nibbled on his bottom lip, tasting Butterbeer. One hand trailed down to his collarbone and she grazed her lips against his again. Through it all Neville was completely immobile, not reacting at all. Pansy finally considered the possibility that he'd truly gone catatonic and had already made the decision to break away when suddenly Neville's warm body surged beneath her and he was kissing her back.

And it was then that she knew for certain that he'd been telling the truth earlier, because if he'd ever snogged anyone in the school, they definitely would've been bragging about it to anyone who'd listen. She could feel his hand on the back of her thick bob, and he was doing the most amazing thing with his lips – her knees buckled and he steadied her at her waist. His kiss was urgent but not demanding. She deepened it as an experiment and Neville moaned low in his throat, spurring her on. Thoughts were racing through her mind and then they weren't there at all. She was drifting on a wave of sensation, created by _Longbottom_, of all people…she never would've guessed, not in her wildest dreams….

He whispered her name and suddenly everything was going horribly wrong. His hands were firmly on her hips and he was doing his best to lift her away. She opened her eyes and he was staring at her with his lips parted, the blank expression that she hated so much on his face. "We can't do this," he breathed.

It would have been kinder if he had just stabbed her in the stomach. Her half-formed thoughts fell to the ground and shattered around them, and all she could feel was a bruising level of rejection. She didn't understand it at first. When she'd broken up with Draco – was it almost a year ago already? – it had been because she thought she'd deserved better, but if even Neville wouldn't have her, well, she had to be completely worthless. She couldn't think of any lower place for a girl to be, and he had put her here. "What, I'm not good enough for you?"

"Pansy-"

She scrambled to her feet, aiming an ill-conceived kick that whiffed by his knee. "Precious Gryffindors don't put up with Slytherin slags, is that it?" she sneered, feeling any self-control she still possessed slipping away.

Neville shot upwards. "You're more than good enough for me. Don't ever call yourself that again."

"Why not? It's what you-"

"If you're about to tell me that's what I'm thinking," Neville snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously, "I'm going to…I don't know."

"Hex me?" Pansy supplied, her voice dull.

"No. Pansy, listen to me. You don't understand how long I've…look, I'm not going to take advantage of you," he muttered miserably.

"You," she said incredulously, "take advantage of me. I'd like to see you try."

Neville sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, with the war – the war!" he pointed out, as if this was explanation in itself. "And hardly anyone's in school this year because of it. I think we both know that if everyone had come back, this wouldn't have happened."

"You can't say that."

"If you were going to…do this…I would want it to be your free decision. If you don't have a free range of choice…it's not a free decision."

He looked like he wanted to cut his own tongue out more than anything else. It would be a crime against womankind, Pansy thought. "So that's it," she said flatly. "You're rejecting me because Draco's not here for you to compete against."

"No, it's not like that," he said, his eyes pleading with her to understand.

"Oh, I think it is. Well, that's pretty piss-poor of you. You're an idiot."

He looked her up and down and squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm an idiot," he whispered hoarsely.

"Can I ask you a question? Do you like me at all?"

His Adam's apple bobbed and he nodded slowly, his eyes still closed. She couldn't make out his whispered words, and was about to ask him to repeat them when somewhere, a clock chimed. Neville's eyes flew open. "What are you waiting for?" she growled when he didn't move. "Get the leaves!"

He hurriedly pulled on a glove, subdued the plant, cut a few leaves off, and dropped them in a small cloth pouch. Pansy stretched out her hand to take it, but he hesitated. "We-we're still friends, right?" he asked awkwardly.

A reflexive, inflammatory reply was on the tip of her tongue, but Pansy quelled it. Neville seemed the very image of misery and unexpectedly, she felt herself soften towards him. "Yeah."

"You're not going to go around making fun of me?" he asked in a small voice.

She smiled sadly. "Neville, that's not what civilized people do." He smiled back, the weakest smile she'd ever seen (and this was saying something; she'd gone through a phase of making underclassmen grin as they took their punishments a couple of years back). "Would you mind taking my bag and cleaning up? I'll run ahead and get this started."

"Sure."

She paused at the door. "So, Neville, who taught you to do that?"

"To do…oh." He looked profoundly embarrassed. "No one."

Pansy arched a brow. "No one?"

"Well, I did take horn lessons. My great uncle used to joke that…never mind…."

She snorted mirthfully. "See you in the Potions lab, then." She let herself out of the greenhouse and leaned against the door for a moment. A wolfish grin sprung to her lips. If Neville thought this was over, he clearly didn't know enough Slytherins.


	6. Sour Times

**Chapter Six: Sour Times**

Pansy darted into the first class of the day and surveyed the lay of the land with a general's eye. What she saw made her squirm with glee: four open desks, one beside Ernie McMillan and one behind, the other two in the back of class. She slid into the seat beside Ernie and beamed winningly at him. "Good morning!" Terry Boot set his bag down on the desk behind Ernie's and Pansy twisted in her seat. "I was kind of saving that seat," she said. "Would you mind?" Terry rolled his eyes and hefted his bag again with exaggerated effort. "Thanks!" she sang, watching him retreat to the back of class. Daphne walked in and Pansy waved at her. Daphne waved back, walked straight to the corner desk on the other side of the room, and sat down with a wicked grin. Pansy smirked at her.

She had come up with the most wonderful new game. It was called Vex The Longbottom, and its objective could be gleaned from the title. The trick to Vex The Longbottom was that it was a covert operation: one must not let Neville realize that he was actively being vexed, and a light touch was key. Daphne was only too happy to join in when Pansy had conveniently let it slip that she thought that Longbottom might fancy her. The other girl had found the whole idea hilarious and threw herself wholeheartedly into making sure the Gryffindor was as uncomfortable as possible. Technically, they weren't making fun of Neville, Pansy reflected. They were just teasing him a bit. She wondered if he noticed what they were doing. Even if he hadn't cottoned on to the grander scheme, he had certainly _noticed_ her flirting with Ernie yesterday. His face had been carefully neutral, but she'd seen his knuckles whiten as he gripped his quill.

Blaise was a great lover of games in general; it was a surprise, then, that he didn't like Vex The Longbottom at all and became foul-tempered whenever it was brought up. "It's not right," he'd said last night, the game's inaugural day. "You're going to give the poor bloke a complex, leading him on like that."

"That's…kind of the idea," Daphne had replied with a snigger, and Pansy had remained silent, letting them think she agreed with this sentiment.

"Nobody deserves that," Blaise had mumbled then, but Pansy knew that Blaise was wrong. Neville needed to be taught a lesson.

He came through the door now, and was followed immediately by Professor Flitwick. Pansy stretched her legs out ostentatiously as Neville took his seat and she pulled the collar of her robes down and away from her throat, as if they had been chafing her. As Flitwick wrote the title of the day's lecture on the board, she sighed and drew her hand across her newly-exposed flesh, listening for the scratch of Neville's quill or, more specifically, the lack thereof. Unfortunately, she couldn't discern whether or not he was transfixed by her artful display. She'd have to satisfy herself with Daphne's report at the end of class.

* * *

She didn't have another class with Neville until after lunch. When she and Daphne arrived at Defense Against the Dark Arts, Neville was already seated at the back of class. Pansy was surprised, as Neville's punctuality usually ranged from almost late to actually late. What surprised her more was that he was sitting beside Blaise, who was whispering in his ear. The Slytherin looked up, saw Pansy gaping at him, and raised his chin in an open show of defiance. Neville looked up too, his expression shuttered. 

"Wanker," Pansy breathed.

"Hmm?" said Daphne, who was preoccupied with the strap of her bag.

"I think you've got competition," Pansy muttered, noting the way Blaise's arm was draped possessively over the back of Neville's chair.

Daphne's eyes narrowed. "He's probably ruining our fun _right now_. He's dead."

Class began and even though Pansy was in plain sight in front of Neville, she was too disgruntled to even make a decent effort at Vex The Longbottom. She had the distinct feeling that Blaise was playing some sort of awful Vex The Parkinson. What had Blaise told Neville? More importantly, what had Neville told Blaise? No, this was not the way things were supposed to be working at all. Too late, Pansy understood what a precarious position she had put herself in. What if Neville had-? The possibility was too terrifying to dwell on. She'd never live it down. She was so _stupid_. But what if Blaise had told Neville that Pansy was trying to get his attention in order to disparage him? Technically, it was true, but Blaise didn't exactly have a nuanced grasp of the situation. The sun came out and flooded the classroom in light, but it didn't make Pansy feel any better about the situation. Oh, she just knew this was going to get spun the wrong way.

"Miss Granger!" the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Lamentina, cried. "Sit down this instant!" Pansy was jolted from her trance and realized that the classroom was lit not by the sun, but by Granger and other students. Light was emanating from a point on Granger's hip, and she had faced off against the professor. First crying in the halls past midnight, now openly defying authority? The Mudblood was off her rocker, and it was immensely entertaining. Other students were beginning to rise, too, and Pansy noticed that each one was marked by a ray of light.

"Professor," Granger said with a touch of impatience, "We've got to go. All of us," she said, waving a hand at her luminous brethren. They were inching closer to Granger protectively, looking ready to overpower Lamentina. Had she created some sort of zombie-like army for her uprising?

"All of you, sit down at once!" Lamentina shouted. "If I have to-" The door of the classroom burst open, revealing Professor McGonagall . Lamentina looked like she could kiss the Headmistress. "Minerva, would you-"

"The Tortoise Protocol has been invoked," McGonagall interrupted enigmatically. Pansy's eyes widened as she saw the glowing circle of light on McGonagall's chest. "I'll be away from the school so I trust you to carry everything, Arianne. Miss Granger, if you would collect the other students?"

Granger shot out of the room as if her life depended on it. Pansy shared a flabbergasted look with Daphne as McGonagall beckoned to the class and every student who was lit up followed her. She was still trying to make sense of what was going on when she felt a light brush against her shoulder that communicated a single word directly into her brain.

_Goodbye._

Her neck cracked with the speed her head swiveled, and she saw that Neville had just passed her by. Pansy's breath hitched in her throat, an ill-defined terror gripping her senses. "What is going _on_?" she screamed at Neville's retreating figure, but he didn't answer or even slow his pace, and then he was gone.

"All students to the Great Hall," Lamentina snapped. Only four seventh-years remained in the classroom.

* * *

The professors were tight-lipped about why the entire student body had been shepherded into the Great Hall, but it didn't take a Ravenclaw to figure out that some dire event was occurring. All of Potter's friends were gone and the faculty was on edge. Pansy, Daphne, and Blaise sat in a sullen circle. Daphne was first to break the silence. "Do you think Potter's sacrificing us or something? Marking all of his friends and leaving us behind for the slaughter?" 

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Blaise snorted.

"Did you two see what actually happened?" Pansy asked. "I wasn't paying attention. I thought Granger had become some sort of Pied Piper and created an army to take over the school with or something."

Blaise considered this. "Okay, _that_'s the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Isn't it obvious? They're going to war."

"No," said Pansy. "My parents would've told me something."

"There's no other explanation."

"There has to be," Pansy said weakly, but her insides felt cold. _Goodbye_. "McGonagall wouldn't let _students_ go to war."

"We're all of age," Blaise pointed out. "Look how the professors are watching us," he said, his voice lower now. "They think we're on our way to the Dark Lord."

Daphne shuddered and reached out to Blaise. "I'm so glad your mum forbade you to fight."

Pansy looked on sourly as her friends exchanged reassuring smiles. Daphne had the memory of a goldfish. She was supposed to be mad at Blaise right now. "What did you tell Neville, Zabini?" Pansy said to jog the other girl's memory.

"That's none of your business, is it?"

"I think it is."

"Isn't it enough to know that you made his last day on Earth miserable?" Blaise asked, a surprising amount of venom in his voice. "Do you really need the details?"

Pansy stood abruptly to stop herself from slapping her erstwhile friend across the face. _He doesn't know, he couldn't possibly know what he's saying_…. Guilt like she'd never known was causing her vision to grey, and for a moment she was certain she was about to faint. She could hear Daphne scolding Blaise for acting like a pearl-clutching old biddy but her voice seemed far away. She turned and sought out Morag on unsteady legs, unable to bear further reminders of her horrible game.

* * *

A/N: The next part of this is coming poorly so I've decided to chop it up and post this for now, unhappy as I am with it. Readers of this fic's companion, "Almighty Fear", know Neville's outcome in the battle, but please bear with me! 


	7. On Call

**Chapter Seven: On Call **

Pansy didn't know how many hours had passed. Daphne and Blaise had started playing a solemn game of Exploding Snap. Pansy sat with Morag, quietly losing her mind at the possibility of having to mourn casualties on both sides of the battle. Not that she would actually _mourn_ that idiot Longbottom! She had no tears to spare for someone who couldn't even bother to tell her where he was going. He obviously didn't trust her. The thought made her throat close in. Had she ever given him a reason not to trust her? Besides accusing him of trying to cut her? Or manipulating him into snogging her? Or Vex The Longbottom? No, it was definitely Blaise's fault that Neville didn't tell her that he was rigged to light up like a Christmas tree. She could blame Blaise – she _did_, of course she blamed him – but surely Neville had had other opportunities before today to inform her.

All of a sudden Professor Flitwick was yelling and the other professors were running out of the Hall. The students spilled out after them to find that the heavy wooden doors to the Entrance Hall were thrown open and three figures were outlined in the doorway. Granger and Neville were supporting an unconscious Ron Weasley, who was missing an arm.

"What happened?" Professor Lamentina demanded as Madam Pomfrey gasped and levitated Weasley's form.

"Voldemort is dead," Granger declared, her voice ringing clear over the hush of the hall, so unnatural given the number of people currently in it. Pansy could see the tracks of fresh tears on the girl's face as she turned and trotted after Weasley, who was being rushed to the hospital wing.

Neville remained rooted to the spot, pale and drawn. The professors began to follow Granger, clearly hoping she could answer more of their questions. Sprout approached Neville. "Alright, son?" she asked.

It was a ridiculous question. Neville was quite clearly _not _alright; he was quaking and even duller than usual. But Neville nodded gamely.

"Good boy," said Sprout, and then, to Pansy's eternal disbelief, the Herbology professor sprinted off after Granger and Weasley, leaving Neville to stare blankly at the silent body of students in front of him.

For pregnant moments, the eerie silence prevailed. "Where's Harry Potter?" some little pipsqueak cried suddenly. Pandemonium broke out as the student body rushed Neville, shouting out queries of their own. Neville, clearly unprepared for such an onslaught, had the look of a trapped animal. A sudden fury gripped Pansy. Weasley and Granger were paraded away for help because they were close to Potter and looked pathetic while Neville remained, a walking wounded and an afterthought at best . Pansy dove into the crush of bodies, tearing away tufts of hair and blasting with her wand until she was at Neville's side. His eyes flickered with vague surprise and she turned on the shouting press of students, brandishing her wand. "Out of the way!" she screeched and even if the students hadn't heard what she said, they clearly understood her meaning. Ignoring the looks on Daphne and Blaise's faces, she dragged Neville free of the group and propelled him down the corridor. "You're going to the hospital wing," she informed him, still seething with anger.

"No," he mumbled, dragging his feet, "Ron needs it…I'm not hurt…."

"You're in shock," she said shortly.

"No hospital," he repeated and lurched out of her grasp without warning.

"Get back here!" she cried, but he trotted off unsteadily. "Where are you – oh, bollocks – _petrificus to_-"

Neville whirled on her with a hate-filled expression she'd never seen on him before and she suddenly hit the floor harder than gravity could've forced her, her wrist twisting under her painfully enough to make her eyes water. She heard wood clatter against stone and looked up to see Neville frozen in horror, his hands empty and his wand on the floor. "Pansy," he breathed.

"You ungrateful wanker!" she cried furiously, scrambling to her feet.

"I didn't mean to-"

"I was trying to help you!" she snapped, her voice shrill to her own ears. "Why don't you _trust_ me?"

"I thought I was back in battle," he blurted.

"Don't change the subject," Pansy snarled. She caught movement on the outskirts of her vision and realized that young insolents were creeping down the hallway towards them. Cursing under her breath, she grabbed Neville and shoved him into the nearest classroom. "You don't trust me," she hissed as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. "What did Blaise tell you?"

"Said you were angry at me and you were out to hurt me. Now go 'way, Pansy," he mumbled as he sank into a proximal desk and laid his head in his arms, bone-weariness emanating from him.

"What did you just say?" she asked, incredulous. "I just saved you from the munchkins!"

"I can't deal with you being a harpy right now," he said, not bothering to lift his head.

"Harpy!? What's that supposed to-"

"I killed people today," he interrupted baldly.

"Oh," was Pansy's profound reaction to this news. Neville's voice had no inflection; she was unsure of how to respond. The last time one of her peers had made such a claim, she'd laughed nastily and rightfully called poor Draco a liar. The current scenario was much more plausible, but she still couldn't quite imagine meek Neville Longbottom as a killer. "…How many people?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" The notion was foreign to Pansy; surely a person would want to keep track of something like that. Unless he'd killed that many people….

"I killed Bellatrix Lestrange," this new, battle-hardened Neville muttered into his arms.

Pansy yelped in alarm.

"I'm sorry if she was your friend," he said stiffly, finally sitting up straight.

"You. Killed Bellatrix," she said faintly, struggling to get over the shock. "Bellatrix Lestrange," she repeated, in case she'd heard wrong.

"But you should know that in certain circles, her reputation was less than rosy," Neville continued, as if he were speaking to a small, irritating child.

What a time to master sarcasm! "Are you STARK, RAVING MAD?" she shrieked, throwing up her hands so she didn't strike him in anger. "She's _dangerous_, Neville!"

"Not anymore," he muttered under his breath.

"She kills people for fun! You could've died!"

"She killed my parents," Neville said without emotion. "For fun."

For the second time in as many minutes, Pansy was arrested in the middle of a tirade. "She killed your parents?" she echoed stupidly.

"Now she's dead," he continued. "I thought it wouldn't hurt as much now, knowing that she's no better off than they are. Sometimes I dreamt she was dead, and they were always happy dreams. I feel terrible, though. I feel like I shouldn't have killed her at all, even though the world's probably a better place with her gone." He squinted up at her. "Are you alright?"

It was only then that Pansy realized that tears were coursing down her cheeks and it took her another second to understand all of the reasons why. "I'm horrible!" she wailed, hunching her shoulders in shame. "I've been furious at you all day because you wouldn't tell me where you were going and you could've _died_ today and you'd never know…."

Neville rose to his feet. "Hey, I'm okay," he said softly, approaching her. His hand twitched as if he would reach out to her, but it remained at his side. "Besides, you were angry at me even before I left."

Granger's bossy voice pierced the door and instantly dried up Pansy's tears. "That's his wand. NEVILLE! Where are you?"

Neville made an apologetic shushing motion towards Pansy and hung his head out the door, blocking her from view. The light from the hallway cutting a bright swath across the room that managed to miss Pansy. She hadn't noticed, but the light in the room was so dim that there had been only grey whilst the door was closed. Now, even though Pansy remained in the shadows, her pale hands were tinged with colour. "I'm over here, Hermione."

"Where have you been?" If it were possible, she would've tried to knaw her own ear off to stop the sound. She was sure she'd learned a Flop-Ear Jinx at some point…. "We turned around and you were gone! You need to go to the hospital wing so Madam Pomfrey can check you."

"I'm fine," Neville demurred.

"I saw you wince when you lifted Ron." Granger's voice wavered momentarily. "Anyways, you're in shock. Come to the hospital wing, at least to check out your shoulder." Ah, that was more like it. Always sticking her nose in where she wasn't wanted.

"I'll go right away, I promise. I'd just like to be alone for a few more minutes. Can I have my wand? Thanks."

"Do you…want to talk about-"

"Come on, Hermione," a male voice Pansy didn't recognize said loudly.

"But I just-"

"See you soon, Neville," the other voice sang. Neville closed the door, plunging them into grey again.

"Well, you heard her," Pansy said sardonically. "Straight off to the hospital wing, and don't forget to swing by the _Prophet_ to let them know Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger agree on something. It's been such a slow news day, maybe they can run it as tomorrow's headline. Keep on the lookout for chits throwing their knickers at you now that you're a war hero."

Neville had been grinning ruefully at her antics, but at this last turn of phrase he became solemn and fixed his gaze on the ground. "Pansy…about the other night…."

Pansy sucked in her breath. How dare he mention the Night Which Must Not Be Named?

"…I just want you to know that you were right. About everything. I know this doesn't change anything, but I was wrong and I'm sorry."

Even when he was right, he was wrong. Pansy wondered what she ever did to deserve this maddening level of ineptitude. "Don't think that I'm going to be your sodding _girlfriend_ or something just because you're sorry you were wrong," she said nastily, flinging her arm up around his neck to pull him down to her level.

"Of course not," he murmured with suitable deference against her lips. Her arm slipped down across his shoulders and he grunted in pain, hunching away from her.

Pansy rolled her eyes in exasperation to cover her frustration at being thwarted once again. She idly hoped that he'd killed whoever had injured him. "Would you get out of here already?"

"D'you want to come with me?" he asked with a wistful sort of look in his eyes.

Pansy bit her lip. "I'd better not." Too much to explain, and too much itching to hex Granger.

"I guess," he said reluctantly, pulling the door open. "But someday."

It sounded like a promise.

* * *

A/N: I wrote this fic as a side plot to "Almighty Fear", so it was a shock to me when it received more attention than its parent story! I'd like to thank my wonderful reviewers who kept giving me great feedback and motivation, and the c2 "Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin Princess" run by ClumsyTonks. 

I'd, uh, also like to apologize for how long it took to get this last chapter out. I watched "Little Miss Sunshine" a couple of weeks ago and went off on this long rant about where it went wrong in the second half (a switch from a character-driven to a plot-driven story). Imagine my chagrin when I came back to this story and realized I was making the exact same mistake! So here's a more organic ending.


End file.
